Mischief's Heirs
by ChaoticLyra
Summary: Fred and George had the Marauder's Map for years. Here's how they got it - and how they GOT it.  Sadly, it's un-beta-ed.


**Mischief's Heirs**

Fred Weasley, Gryffindor first-year, prankster and twin, stood in the doorway, shaking his head frantically. It hadn't been his idea that had brought them here. Without a word, George – who was standing inside the office – looked at him and insisted upon Fred throwing the dung bomb, he himself was standing closer to that irresistibly interesting cabinet labelled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous". It was only logical for Fred to work the diversion. Besides, Filch had only caught one of them in the corridor and that had been George.

Fred sighed and held out his hand. His twin quickly passed him their emergency prank item and turned on his most innocent expression.

The care-taker still had his back to both the door and the "annoying little culprit", rummaging through a drawer, without a doubt searching for a form to petition George's disembowelment. So Fred took two steps back, pulled the lid off and threw the dungbomb as far down the corridor as he could. Then he turned on his heel and sprinted into the other direction, hoping to Merlin that his twin would make it out soon.

As the explosion sounded and an abominable smell started to seep through the hallway, Filch spun around to stare at George suspiciously, who looked up at him as innocently as possible. When the old man rushed into the corridor and looked left and right for any sign of the evil-doer, George pulled the drawer open and snagged the very first thing he saw. He buried his hands and the newfound treasure inside the pockets of his robes and turned at the same moment as Filch.

"Out!" bellowed Filch. "I have to catch the little miscreant who dared to throw a dung bomb right around the corner of my office!"

He pulled George out of his room and left him standing in front of the closed door, then made his way down the corridor, muttering, "Hopefully Dumbledore will allow me to whip them. Or hang 'em from their toes in the dungeons. Mrs Norris will help find them if I find her… " His voice grew more distant and George went into the opposite direction.

He turned a corner on the floor above Filch's office and saw his brother sitting on the floor, waiting. Fred looked up and grinned. George grinned right back and went to squat down next to him. As usual, no words were needed between them – it was a given that the other knew exactly how lucky they'd been, how soon they'd need new bombs and another diversionary item for the next time Filch caught them.

"Good thing Mrs Norris wasn't there," he said instead. "And he's got no proof for it to be our fault."

"Course not," agreed his twin. "And if he hadn't caught you running in the Transfiguration corridor, he wouldn't have thought it was us who let the fireworks go off in the classroom. Or rather, you."

"You were too slow, still in the room when they went off. But otherwise we hadn't seen that fascinating cabinet, right?"

"Confiscated and Highly Dangerous," sighed Fred the same way the girls sighed over their brother Charlie. "So, what did you find?"

George waved with the piece he had nicked out of the cabinet. "What is it?"

"You chose it. Show me."

It was an empty bit of parchment, frayed, crumbled and slightly scorched on one side, flapping at the other. The twins sighed in unison.

Fred frowned at the small piece. "It's useless? Really?" he asked disbelievingly and shook the parchment. "But…"

George was thinking the same thing. "But it wouldn't have been there if it was. Confiscated and all."

They exchanged a quick glance, shrugged and made their way up to the Gryffindor common room.

In the few weeks since the start of term, they'd already left their mark on their house. Their room mate Lee reckoned the scorch mark above one of the fire places would never be repaired and Percy – who'd been the victim of that particular prank – had been rather embarrassed seeing the firework he deflected leaving such a mark.

It was always a fun game to see whose idea annoyed Percy more. The toads in his shoes or the painted glasses? The stolen socks or the vanishing ink? The fireworks in the shower or the the modified Jack-in-a-book?

Percy was by far the favourite victim of the twins, had been as long as they knew. At the Burrow, there weren't many people to prank, their father was at work most of the time and their mother would skin them alive if they directed their mayhem at her. Little Ronnie couldn't take more than one joke a week and Ginny was just too small. And until now, with their three older brothers away at Hogwarts, those four made up the regular environment. Some of the neighbours could be pranked, but they had to be careful with the Muggles and beside Cedric Diggory from across the hill, all the other magical children were either too old – like the Fawcetts – or too young – like little Luna Lovegood.

But here at Hogwarts, they had a whole school of potential victims and seven years to unleash some Weasley styled mischief and mayhem at them. Of course, Bill at left last year and was now in Egypt, apprenticing to a curse breaker from Gringotts. To break curses and wards and all the dangerous stuff. It was doubtful if they'd ever try to prank him again, not without some foolproof protection of all the old egyptian hexes and jinxes Bill was now learning. Charlie as a sixth year would normally be fair game, but he was Quidditch captain this year and while Fred and George could think of a lot of Quidditch-related jokes, they really wanted to be on the team next year. So, it was probably better not to anger Charlie.

Percy though… he was riled up easily, stuck up, way too much into rules and his temper was classical: He would turn red, yell at them to stop their nonsense, turn even redder, then finally snap, get those almost purple blotches on his cheeks while the rest of his face stayed a unfitting tomato-red (reminding them of a angered lobster with Weasley hair) and threaten to tell Mum. And _that_ would be the cue to stop, because there was just no telling what their Mum would do.

And even with a school full of other victims, Fred and George spend the rest of the day tormenting Percy, using the newly learned Levitation charm to send his papers and books flying whenever he was not looking.

Hours later, the twins were still sitting in the common room. It was well after midnight and the rest of the house was asleep, the perfect time to investigate their 'acquired' parchment.

Now, it was lying innocently between them on the table, having withstood careful examination and frustrated waving.

"It seems to be just an empty piece of parchment," Fred said, peering at the paper. "Try something again. Write something."

"And what should I write?" George asked and pulled out a quill. "Should I ask what it is? Or what it does? D'you think it'll answer? You try."

"I just did. Nothing happens when you hold it over the fire, like that muggelscript with lemon."

"We can't spend the whole night figuring it out," George exlaimed and gestured wildly with his quill. "so, what do I write?"

"How about 'What do you do?' Maybe it answers questions," Fred suggested. "That would be neat, a parchment to answer questions. Try. Maybe it really answers."

"What do you do?" George wrote on the parchment and the twins watched in awe as the ink vanished and the paper gave a hissing sound, as if it was hissing disaprovingly at them.

"I don't think that was what we were supposed to do." George said after a moment of silence, as Fred put the ink pot as far away from the parchment as possible. "Maybe Filch thought it dangerous because it hissed at him?"

The brothers stared at the paper. It had to do something. Even Filch wouldn't have confiscated it, if it didn't.

"Maybe it isn't useful after all," Fred said disappointed. "But try some magic."

"You try. I wrote on it."

"Which spell?" asked Fred and fumbled his wand out of his pocket. "I can't remember anything that would help us here. And I don't want to destroy it."

George shrugged. "Just try something. Do 'Abracadabra', like a muggel if you want."

"Abracadabra!" Fred shouted and hit the parchment with his wand. He shrugged when nothing happened. "Well, it was worth a try."

The twins sighed and bowed over the parchment again, as words began to form.

_Mr Padfoot would like to inquire as to why these two don't understand we're guarding a secret?_

"What the –" they stopped as the words vanished and others appeared.

_Mr Prongs would like to add that he thinks Mr and Mr Weasley too inexperienced to manage any mischief business and would like to ask them to keep out of our element if it is too harsh for them._

_Mr Padfoot couldn't have said it any better, but is too surprised to say anything apart from: More Weasleys?_

As the last words vanished and a Mr Wormtail spoke up, Fred and George looked at each other.

"Mischief business?" the asked in unison and grinned, delighted. Now _that_ was something they could work with!

"So, how do we get to the secret, without keeping those people talking?" Fred asked and George shrugged. "Dunno. And why do they keep talking?"

Both looked down at the parchment.

_Mr Wormtail completely agrees with Mr Padfoot and Mr Prongs and would like to conclude, that Mr and Mr Weasley are obviously not wrecking havoc._

_Mr Prongs accepts this statement, but would like to point out that not everybody can be as brilliant as they are._

_Mr Padfoot would also like to ask Mr and Mr Weasley to ensure the safe return of this wonderful mischief equipment to its place so worthy heirs to the Marauders may find it._

_Mr Moony wishes Mr and Mr Weasley a good day and hopes they may one day achieve being part of the holy heights of being up to no good._

_Mr Prongs also feels the need to add that every day might be a good day to be inducted into the brotherhood of mischief makers._

The words faded and Fred and George were still grinning. "So…" Fred started and George picked up. „Mischief makers, huh?"

"Mischief equipment! Right up our alley! Spiffing!"

Fred touched his wand to the parchment and said loudly: „I am a mischief maker."

Nothing happened.

The twins looked at each other and simultaneously saw the spark of understanding in the other's eye.

"A brotherhood of mischief makers, Mr Prongs said, right?" George began.

Fred continued immediately. "A brotherhood has an induction ceremony, right?"

"And an induction ceremony has an oath and that…"

"… is sworn formally!"

"Soberly!"

"Solemnly!"

Fred tapped the parchment again. "I solemnly swear I am a mischief maker."

Again, nothing happened.

George frowned, then suggested, "Try what Moony and Wormtail said. Up to no good."

Fred nodded, touched the paper with the tip of his wand and intoned slowly, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

And in front of the surprised eyes of the Weasley twins words appeared on the parchment again:

Messrs Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail

_Are proud to present_

_The Marauder's Map_

Within the next few seconds the onk spread and formed long lines, outlining the castle and the grounds of Hogwarts, showing every classroom, hallway and little passageways that were obviously secret passages. And little dots with words hanging on…

"Are those people?"

"Look! Professor Dumbledore!"

"And here! Professor Snape in the dungeons. And watch this, Filch with Mrs Norris on the forth floor!"

The twins looked at each other and laughed.

"That's got to be the most brilliant map I've ever seen."

"Definitely! I bet they were geniusses!"

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs? Out new heroes?"

"Exactly! What we'll be able to do now!"

In unison, both began to list up, "Never again be caught red handed! No more need for diversions! And never, ever detention!"

For a long moment, silence reigned as they watched the map. Snape was in his quarters and Filch had just entered his office. Peeves was up on the astronomy tower. McGonagall was walking towards the Great Hall and Hagrid along the lake's edge.

"Hey," George spoke up. "How do we turn it off?"

"Like we turned it on?" Fred tried, but the map remained.

"Maybe something like 'mischief made'? That's what they wanted us to do, right?"

He tried again, but the map stubbornly remained.

"Say something different," George ordered.

"Like Prongs said in the beginning, 'Mischief managed'. Or 'Havoc wrecked', like Wormtail said. That should work."

And finally, after using Prongs' offered phrase, the map faded and the parchment was once more empty, old and looking as useless as it had before.


End file.
